


Messages from Morpheus

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Prompt Fic, Protectiveness, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspector Hopkins wants a word, but Holmes isn't having it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messages from Morpheus

**Author's Note:**

> Written for JWP #19: While You Were Sleeping.  
> Warnings: Unspecified but significant whumpage. Medically unlikely. Not Hopkins' finest moment. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a huge rush. You have been warned.

Did I truly hear voices? Was I awake, or was I dreaming? I could not tell. I felt entirely disassociated, unsure of where I was or what was happening, trapped in the warm, comforting dark behind my eyelids.  
  
“…just need a few minutes of his time, Mr Holmes. We need his account of…”  
  
I knew that voice, but only vaguely. I wasn’t sure, but I did not think I cared for it much. Nor did I care for the distant awareness of pain, lurking in wait for me just beyond the edge of the twilight world where I drifted.  
  
“Absolutely not, Hopkins. I will not have it.”  
  
I knew that voice well. Holmes, but angry as I have seldom heard him.  That anger disturbed me, threatened to pierce my cocoon. I might have flinched, or whimpered, had I less dignity, or the ability to do so. Slumbrous bands held me fast and mute.  
  
“This is the first real rest he’s gotten in nearly a week, and that’s only because I took the liberty of dosing his tonic with a draught Anstruther made up. He has warned us in the strictest terms that if Watson does not rest, he might not recover – not fully. His health could be irreparably damaged by the events of the last fortnight. So no, you may _not_ have his statement, not now, and not in a few hours, either. You will simply have to wait until Watson is recovered enough to give it to you. And I would greatly appreciate it if you would not show your face here until he himself summons you to give that statement.”  
  
A muffled protest, cut off by another familiar voice, although spoken in icy tones I’d never heard directed at myself. “Here’s your coat, Inspector. I’ll show you to the door.” Mrs Hudson.  
  
The comforting darkness thickened around me, muffling the sound of footsteps on the stairs and the opening and closing of the front door.  
  
“Please tell me that silly man did not disturb the poor doctor.” Mrs Hudson again, in the softest whisper.  
  
Holmes’ voice was quieter still, and yet somehow I heard it more clearly than anything else. “No, Mrs Hudson. Watson hasn’t moved an inch or flickered as much as an eyelid. I believe he is still safely in the arms of Morpheus.”  
  
“Thank Heavens for that. I’ll have Billy guard the door and forbid any more visitors, no matter how important they think they are.”  
  
“Thank you, Mrs Hudson.”  
  
Soft murmurs, then a rustle of petticoats moving away, and the soft click of the sitting-room door. A gentle hand touched my shoulder. “Rest, Watson. Come back to us when you’re ready, dear man.”  
  
Warm and safe, and more surely guarded than the Queen herself. I knew no more.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 19, 2015


End file.
